


Fearful of the Night

by akissontitan



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: CSA/pedophilia implied, Gen, but not much further than the degree to which it was implied in canon, this fic is sad but it has a positive ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akissontitan/pseuds/akissontitan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>This is not victory,</em> she thinks, <em>not how the storybooks tell it.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fearful of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever say "I'm going to bed" but then end up writing a fic for your favourite movie on your phone in the dark because uh.
> 
> Sarah displays PTSD-like symptoms in this fic because of how Jareth behaved towards her!!! If you're uncomfortable reading about young teen's mental state after a traumatic experience, I'd suggest avoiding this fic. All abuse survivors, please tread carefully and take care of yourselves. <3

The days after Sarah returns from the labyrinth pass in a blur. Hours are wasted alone in her room, staring at the Escher painting on her wall, imagining and re-imagining the sensation of falling upwards, jumping across pillars as if even gravity was ignoring her.

The sound of heavy rain against her windowsill sounds so much like avian claws when you're dizzy from dreaming, and her anxious heart won't calm until she draws the curtains. She keeps her eyes downcast, frightened to look through the glass for fear of what she might see. _This is not victory,_ she thinks, _not how the storybooks tell it._

 

School starts again after only a few short weeks, and by then she reasons that even if she still doesn't feel quite right, she is an actress, and she will pretend. 

The eleventh grade is serious, and she studies hard to achieve average marks. Sometimes, when she glances out the window of her classroom, she sees her friends. Not her fellow schoolmates, (who seem grown up in ways she is not, and yet so immature sometimes that she could scream), but the friends she made on her heroine's quest, all furry and odd-shaped and wonderful.

But even months later, Sarah doesn't feel like a heroine. She told her labyrinthian friends that she would call on them when she needed them, but how could she explain to them that a piece of her has been stolen, replaced by something sharp and foreign, and she doesn't think it can be fixed?

How could she let the friends she trusted and loved see her so weak as this?

 

It's about half way through the school year when the girls start getting boyfriends. Sarah sees them, draped in oversized varsity jackets and carrying binders covered with hearts, and she's almost jealous. She knows not every man will want to hurt her. But one tried to, and very almost succeeded, and that's enough to make her want to never date or kiss or grow up in _that way_ no matter how old she gets.

Six months later and Sarah still finds herself staring at the Escher poster sometimes when she's supposed to be studying. She takes it down, reminiscing over how smart she felt when she put it up almost four years ago. No other twelve year old knew who M.C Escher was.

That night, almost as a punishment, she is cursed with a dream of hands grabbing at her, pulling her this way and that, covering her mouth and hips and asking her all sorts of terrible, confusing questions. When she wakes up, she realises that the dream was not about the pit of Helping Hands.

That day Sarah doesn't go to school, and her father fusses over her in that bumbling way he has, checking her forehead for a fever and squeezing her shoulder as he leaves for work. She knows it's not his fault, her father is a gentle man who loves her dearly, but the touches make her want to rip her skin off.

The night terrors return sometimes, but the nights after they occur are always filled with dreams of sleeping on tree trunk arms covered in fur, of off-kilter whistles and snoring, of canines and friendly company. At first she's embarrassed that her friends saw fit to come to her aid, but after a while she starts to think that maybe needing help is okay.

 

There is no definitive point where things start to get better. No magic words or snazzy phrase or moment of realisation this time; just the gentle ebb of comfort lapping against her heart like water to a rock.

Still, she is one of the only girls to graduate high school without ever having a boyfriend. Sarah is okay with that, as she's seen how stressful maintaining a relationship is for her classmates, even if the guys are not quite as bad as goblin kings with dirty sneers and personal space issues. She is okay with a lot of things she never expected to be, like the way some of the girls look in their prom dresses, and the way the rain taps against the window.

Some wounds never heal right, but when she moves into her college dorm in freshman year, Sarah sleeps with the window open, and she thinks that is a victory worth celebrating.

_"Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;_

 _I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night."_

**Author's Note:**

> As anyone who's ever tried to browse the Sarah Williams tag on tumblr will know, the poem quoted above is from "The Old Astronomer (To His Pupil)" by Sarah Williams.
> 
> This is a deeply personal fic (and was written an hour past my bedtime after a full day of, ironically, babysitting), so I'm not sure how well I'd be able to handle criticism on it. Please feel free to comment if you enjoyed it or of it resonated with you somehow (and next time I write a Labyrinth fic I promise to make it a happy one).


End file.
